It’s the time of year when I see the practice nurse for the first stage of my six-monthly checkup. It’s a little early this year. I generally go rather nearer the Autumn Equinox. But there are times later on when my kalendar promises to be fuller but not hectic. 

So, yesterday I went. Ten past ten in the morning. And fasting. And I did so want that blessed cup of tea when the alarm woke me at ten to eight. So I deferred until after the appointment. Then to Zappi’s for a latte and a pain au chocolate.

Time, I thought, to get organised. Get away from the interminable 4th century. And do something differnt. Something new.

Thinking of something new reminded me of Ars Nova, a treatise concerning new possibilities for composing music, written by Philip de Vitry in the 14th century. I prefer to think of the 14th century as the 1300s. The 13 hundreds are also identifiable as the trecento. I decide to focus on the trecento until the Winter Solstice. Be content with what I can achieve in that period. And then do something else.

I begin to sketch a time line. Books immediately to hand suggest inclusions. Then I find myself myself looking at William “The Razor” of Occam. Born, perhaps, in the village of Ockham (Oak Hamlet) in late 1287 or early 1288. Died, without a doubt, in Munich on the night of 9/10 april 1347. 

It’s more than 30 years since I last looked at anything about Occam. There was something on the open shelves of the Radcliffe Camera and passing references, a sentence or two, elsewhere in my reading. Computers? Ha! Who now remembers the Sinclair ZX81? Google? What Google? The World Wide Web? Oh boy!. Get real!

At this year of grace,  researching for leads, is so much easier. Our William was a Franciscan who studied at Merton College. Merton College is metaphorically a few steps away in the centre of Oxford. 

Then he went to Avignon. I remember an evening between trains in Avignon. I went looking for the pont. Sur le pont d’Avignon. Found, instead, the Palace of the Popes. This was the Avignon Papacy in real life. Like a stage set. And in that palace in Avignon there once was a Pope John XXII, well known for his two lines in the standard histories of music for his diatribe against modern composers and the damnable choirmen who sang hockets like hiccups. 

This is going to be fun. The Franciscan and the Pope were at loggerheads. Some say they accused each other of heresy. The friar was excommunicated and did a midnight flit to Munich. Where he stayed for the rest of his mortal life. 

Well worth a visit. As they say in the Michelin Guides.

francis cameron

oxford, 23 august 2014